


Sherrinford Holmes

by Gwerinos (orphan_account), MizUndahStood



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-04-21 02:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Gwerinos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizUndahStood/pseuds/MizUndahStood
Summary: Dr John Watson is offered a new job, after returning home from Afghanistan with nothing but bad memories and a gunshot wound. But he isn't the only one offered a new job.





	1. An offer he can't refuse.

Dr John Watson returned home from his dinner at the local cafe that he had followed up with a beer at the pub while he watched a replay of a rugby match, and immediately knew something was wrong. His door was slightly ajar. He didn’t have anything worth stealing except for a laptop that he had recently bought, but his gun was in the desk draw.  At least he hoped it was still there. He pushed the door open and saw the silhouette of a tall man standing in front of the window. The drapes had been opened so that the light from the street partially illuminated the room. By the looks of it the man was leaning on a cane. With a frown John flicked the light switch. It wasn’t a cane but an umbrella. The man wore a well tailored suit and didn’t seem the type that would need to break into his meager bedsit. 

 

“Welcome home, Dr Watson.”

 

“Who are you?’ John asked.

 

“My name is Mycroft Holmes.”

 

“What are you doing in my flat?”

 

“Looking for you,” Mycroft replied. 

 

“You found me.”

 

“Yes, I have.”

 

John glanced towards the desk draw.

 

“Your gun is still there, so is your laptop. But you have no need of either at this time. I am here to offer you a job.  You will have many patients, but one in particular will be your primary concern. The job comes with full board and lodgings, and a considerable salary. It will require you to leave the country. It will also require you to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

 

“Where?” John asked. “Who will I be working for?”

 

“Where will be revealed in good time, if you accept.  You will be working for my family.”

 

“But not in England?”

 

“Not in this kingdom. I can’t offer you the excitement of the battlefield, doctor, but I can tell you that the future of an entire country depends on your decision and your skills as a doctor. And you will be working on a battlefield of sorts; one with a lot less guns and death, but by no means less dangerous,” Mycroft replied. “I’d like to let you sleep on it but I have a helicopter waiting.”  Mycroft held out an ipad. “Just put your thumb here to register your fingerprint and your acceptance of your new life.”

 

“And if I agree but don’t like what you tell me?”

 

“Then Dr J H Watson will have died on a battlefield in Afghanistan,” Mycroft told him.  

 

“You...you can’t...just…”

 

“Oh, I assure you I can. Not personally, of course.  You are a trained soldier and I am just a paperpusher.  But the pen is mightier than the sword. And you’d be surprised just how the digital age has made it so much less messy. With the right program in the right computer and the touch of one key and Dr Watson no longer exists.”

 

“That is too encouraging.  I could just say no.”

 

“But you aren’t going to say no.” Mycroft brought up a picture on the screen.  “Your private bedroom.”

 

[ http://cloudchamber.co/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/fabulous-style-luxury-bedroom-interior-blue-ideas-enchanting-style-luxury-bedroom-interior-blue-ideas-ccccfaecfcf-x.jpg ](http://cloudchamber.co/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/fabulous-style-luxury-bedroom-interior-blue-ideas-enchanting-style-luxury-bedroom-interior-blue-ideas-ccccfaecfcf-x.jpg)

  
  


[ ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/3c/09/23/3c092334c605317a983fd8501aada998.jpg)

 

“And your sitting room. Of course, they have all the latest technology. I expect you have missed quite a lot of the current entertainments.”

 

“Of course,” John muttered. 

 

“Your office,” Mycroft continued, showing John another picture.

 

[ http://haninall.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/awesome-collection-of-luxury-office-desk-beautiful-luxury-office-furniture-furniture-masterpiece-collection-of-luxury-office-desk.jpg ](http://haninall.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/awesome-collection-of-luxury-office-desk-beautiful-luxury-office-furniture-furniture-masterpiece-collection-of-luxury-office-desk.jpg)

  
  


“And you think this will impress me into signing up?” John asked. 

 

Mycroft glanced around the near empty bedsit. “It might be a step up from eating ramen boiled in a kettle at Good Will reject writing desk. Plus the fact that you will have patients rather than be one. Another alternative might be to put the barrel of your gun to your head and pull the trigger, except at this point can you even afford bullets?”  


	2. Prince William Sherlock Scott Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving in Sherrinford Holmes and meeting the patient.

One hour later John was in a helicopter flying directly into a massive storm. “Wouldn’t it be safer to go around the Devil’s Anus?” John asked Mycroft.

 

“Safer? Yes, but surely that would not get us to our destination,” Mycroft replied. “I suggest you hang on.”

 

John had heard of the Devil’s Anus, a perpetual storm that never moved but constantly raged over a small area in the English Channel. Many attempts had been made to explain the phenomenon but it had never been studied with much effort as the area was restricted. Stories were told of scientists who had ventured there never to return, how fishermen avoided the place, and how the superstitious believed the place cursed, hence the name.  John however believed that a few boats had been caught in storms in an area that was prone to storms and thus the stories had arisen. 

 

When the helicopter emerged from the other side of hell, John’s eyes nearly popped. The sight before him was something out of time. There was an island covered by stone buildings, a castle complete with cathedral and dozens of smaller buildings surrounding it. The entire island was surrounded by a stone wall which the sea lapped up against angrily. The island itself was relatively small, perhaps no more than a kilometre circumference.  The helicopter settled down on a modern helipad about ¾ of the way up one side of the mountain. 

 

“Welcome to Sherrinford Holmes, Dr Watson,” Mycroft said. 

 

They were greeted by servants dressed in 17th century French clothing who scurried about seeing to the task of offloading the luggage. Mycroft spoke in French to the man carrying John’s duffle bag then, led John to a door where they waited for their helicopter to take off while another arrived. 

 

“More arrivals?” John asked.

 

“Yes. Your partner in keeping your special patient well. Since we do  not have a hospital or university, we find ourselves dependent on highly educated candidates from many other nations. A few of our people have left for universities overseas, but they rarely seem to return. Measures had to be taken to ensure the our country was not left completely bereft the talents of those needed to perform much needed work in STEM functions throughout the country. Internet courses are now available in many fields of study. The courses are free, so avail yourself of whatever takes your fancy,” Mycroft told him. 

 

“Sounds like I won’t have very much free time. And, I’m current in my continuing education right now, so it’s of little consequence, really. Just make sure there’s a strong WiFi signal at all times, and that should more than suffice.”

 

John and Mycroft watched the second helicopter land and servants rushed forward to get the luggage of the new arrival.  “Dr Eberhardt, may I present Dr Watson?” Mycroft swept an arm behind him to gesture toward John. “Now, let’s get inside out of the wind if you please.”  

 

John stopped momentarily to have a look at Dr Eberhardt, then spun on his heel as they all took cover from the windy conditions. Dr Eberhardt kept close attention as her belongings were being divvied up by footmen, and watched the helicopter leave with a nearly tearful eye. She screwed her eyes shut, sighed, then followed after the others. 

 

They walked through several long arched passageways to a lift that was so ancient that it was like a metal cage. A servant opened the inner then the outer doors and waited for them to enter before closing both again. He operated the controls for them which were a lever that set the floor they needed and yet another lever to get the lift moving. 

 

Neither John nor Dr Eberhardt were used to such antiquated facilities. Both looked around the creaky enclosure before settling their eyes on each with curiosity, and a bit of suspicion.

 

The only thing that showed they had not indeed left the 21st century entirely behind was the brightness of the LED lighting on the roof inside of the lift as they were engulfed by the claustrophobic stone walls lining the shaft of the lift. John glanced up at the light hoping it wouldn’t go out. 

 

As if sensing his apprehension, Mycroft coldly reassured John:  “Power is something we do not have to worry about here in Sherrinford Holmes. Wind generators keep the power going 24/7, doctor.  And, as we have already experienced first hand - the wind never stops.” 

 

“And, fresh water? Is there rationing, or perhaps an active recycling program?” Dr Eberhardt wondered aloud.

 

“Not at all. All the drinking water is purified rainwater and the desalination units provide an endless supply of fresh water for nearly everything else,” Mycroft informed them. 

 

“Well, that’s somewhat reassuring,” she mumbled. “I guess…” 

 

“Perhaps you would like to avail yourself of a  visit to the salt water spa before you retire? Nothing quite like it to relax tired, achy muscles.”  Mycroft’s expression replicated something quite close to a smile as he spoke.

 

“Really?” She smiled. “I could use a nice long soak after the day of travel I’ve just had.”

 

John glanced at his watch. “Supper is served at midnight in one’s private chambers. Unless otherwise instructed by you. Breakfast is served at 10 am. We are not early risers,” Mycroft told them.

 

Dr Eberhardt cocked her head and furrowed her brow a bit as if she had questions, but was parsing them as she listened. “How much longer in the lift, Mr Holmes? We’ve yet to make proper introductions.”

 

“The queen has extended an invitation to breakfast with the family tomorrow,” Mycroft paused. “It is not as far as one might suspect, doctor. The lift is very old and for safety’s sake kept at a very slow speed.”  

 

“Understood,” she nodded. 

 

“One as young and fit as yourself, might prefer the stairs, but we keep the outside lighting to a minimum so as not to disturb the nesting birds and wildlife.  I certainly have not used them at night since I was a teenager.” The lift came to a halt and opened into a very large open area that might have been at home in Versailles, though it was lit by hidden modern lighting. 

 

“Mod cons! Thank goodness for that.” John chuckled softly.

 

“Oh, yes, we keep quite up to date. Many of the young ones are thrilled with us having Netflix added to our entertainment channels this year. If there is anything lacking in the modernization of our medical needs, please do not be shy about pointing it out. You will have anything that you require. This way to the palace infirmary.”  When they got there, Mycroft walked into one of the private rooms. “Prince William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” he said. “He will be your primary patient and, as such - his needs will be your top priority.” 

 

A tall thin man with dark curly hair and skin so pale that he might disappear into the white sheets of his hospital bed, lie sprawled out in bed. John immediately noted the vials of various medications on the mobile stand just out of the patient’s reach and the automated morphine drip whose controls were in the patient’s hand. He approached the drip and immediately dialed down the dosage permissions and concentration.  The Prince grabbed the stand and proceeded to return his medication back to its previous settings. John then dialed it down again and moved the stand out of his patient’s reach. They both stared at each other definantly, but with an air of silent curiosity. 

 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” the Prince broke the silence. 

 

“Excuse me?” John shook his head quizzically. 

 

“Where were you stationed? Afghanistan or Iraq?”  

 

“Kandahar… Why do you ask?” 

 

“You are going to find our climate uncomfortable. You, on the other hand...” he continued, glancing at Dr Eberhardt. “Will freeze.”

 

“I’m fine!” Both doctors huffed in unison, which made the prince chuckle weakly. 

 

“Sherlock, this is Dr Anna Eberhardt Phd, from California. She is here as our new rehabilitation specialist.  This is Dr John Watson. He will see to your general health and treat your affliction,” Mycroft told him. 

 

“I don’t have an  _ affliction _ , Mycroft. I have a congenital condition. Do your research.”

 

“Hemophilia,” John said. 

 

“Yes, doctor. That is the short, easy answer.”

 

John picked up the vials and read them carefully. “Hemophilia C? You are being treated with three types of blood clotting factors.”

 

“Among others. Please study my chart, and patient history to familiarize yourself with the specifics.” 

 

“I fully intend to,” Dr Watson replied. “Your highness.”

 

“Sherlock, please,” he replied. 

 

Anna stepped around John to speak to Sherlock and he folded his arms defiantly before she uttered a single word. “When were you last tested for range of motion and overall mobility of your weight bearing joints, Sherlock?”

 

“Never. Scotty was not into such tests. He would give me injections and supply me with morphine and spend his time at the bar.”

 

“Even when your elbow is swelled up to twice its size?” John asked. 

 

“I will not be moved out of the country, doctor,” Sherlock told him. 

 

“How do you get around, Sherlock?” Anna asked.

 

“Most of the time I am quite mobile.  It is when I have had an injury that I am restricted to bed.”

 

It was then that the door burst open and in strode two men pushing a wooden trolley full of cakes and bottles of wine.  

 

Both doctor’s heads snapped in the direction of the clatter and turned as they followed the trolley make its way across the room.

 

There were frills and lace and bows everywhere. “Suppers, darling,” the blond announced. 

 

“What on earth?” Anna swatted John’s thigh with the back of her hand.

 

“Prince Philippe, my brother, and his companion the Chevalier Philippe De Lorraine,” Sherlock said. 

 

“Should I curtsy or something? I mean…” she shook her head.

 

“Not in that outfit, my dear.” He took her hand and kissed it. 

 

“Oh. Umm, okay.” Anna politely retrieved her hand.

 

“I see you haven’t been provided with appropriate attire yet,” Philippe commented. “Artificial fabrics are not permitted here.”

 

“Whoa-whoa-whoa… Are you joking me? Is this something related to the medical treatment of my patient or… or what, exactly?” Anna wiped the back of her hand on her pants leg as she spoke.

 

“That would be ‘what exactly’,” Philippe replied. 

 

“Your clothing will be stored for visits home or when you leave the country. While in Sherrinford, artificial fabrics are against the law,” Mycroft informed her. 

 

“Okay. No bigs. I wear mostly natural fibers. Phew! You had me worried, there. I can give you any garments with a blend.”

 

“You misunderstand,” Mycroft said. “All your clothing will be stored.” 

 

“And what am I to do for undergarments?” Anna placed her hands in her hips.

 

“We don’t wear underpants.  We believe in airflow,” Sherlock said. “There will be skirts and tops and aprons, stockings, shoes, chemise, everything you will need. Mycroft is quite thorough.” 

 

“Awww, hell naw.” Anna grumbled under her breath. John scrubbed a hand over his mouth to smother a laugh, but his eyes could barely hide his amusement. 

 

“It is usually the male visitors who complain the most,” Sherlock added. “They insist on britches that go all the way to their ankles. 

 

“Y’all got me twisted like,  _ whuuut _ !” Anna thought to herself. “Well, that wasn’t expected but I can make the necessary adjustments to my wardrobe, I suppose.”

 

“You want me to dress like that?” John asked. 

 

“It is a requirement of your employment. Though I don’t expect Mycroft would have provided quite such elaborate brocade,” Philippe responded.  

 

This time, it was Anna’s turn to laugh.

 

“I hope you are prepared.  Most of the population will not have seen anyone of your...skin tone...except in movies and television shows.” Sherlock said as he accepted a glass of red wine from Chevy. John immediately removed the glass. 

 

“I’ll take that. Thanks.” Anna reached around John to take possession of the cut crystal goblet, and set it on a sideboard next to Sherlock’s medications. Then, she secretly removed a testing strip from her pocket, and dipped it into the glass. 

 

John intercepted another glass.  “No alcohol,” John ordered. “You may have tea.” 

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and crinkled the top of his nose. “And what, may I ask is the reasoning behind this? I’ve never been denied a stoup of port with my dinner.”

 

“When you are no longer requiring clotting agents, you may return to having your glass of port, and not a moment before. For the moment, no alcohol, Sherlock. We don’t want your blood thinned,”  John ordered, then busied himself examining Sherlock’s elbow. “Where are the pressure bandages kept? One should have been applied as soon as this swelling began.”

 

“One was, but my dear brother removes them. Didn’t I tell you? A weather eye must be kept on Sherlock at all times. He seems to have a death wish.” Mycroft took a glass of wine from the trolley. 

 

“The top door on the right,” Sherlock told John who went to the elaborately carved wooden doors. Opening the door, top right, he found that the decoration of the cupboard extended inside with accents made of elaborate hand carving and brass knobs adorning drawers of various sizes. After rifling through two or three drawers, John found a suitable bandage and applied it to Sherlock's elbow.

 

“How does that feel?”

 

“Like someone applied pressure to an extremely sensitive swollen joint,” Sherlock replied. “Everyone out.” He flapped his wrist toward the door. 

 

“Good night, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, as he spun on his heel to take his leave.

 

“Is there a night nurse?” John asked. 

 

“She’ll be waiting outside for us to leave.” Mycroft handed John a pager from Sherlock's bedside table. “From now on, you are on call 24/7, doctor.”

 

“Do not remove that bandage, Sherlock. I mean it. Royalty or not, I will have you strapped down to prevent it if you persist,” John ordered. 

 

The Chevalier got a wicked grin. “The new doctor is into bondage.”

 

A woman dressed in a long skirt with a plain corset top, covered with a shawl, entered. They also picked up two other servants.

 

“Theresa will be your handmaid, Dr Eberhardt. She will show you around and fetch anything you might need. She will also assist you with your daily dressing changes.” Theresa curtsied. She wore a slightly more elaborate dress on than the night nurse. “She only speaks French. Will that be a problem? I did note that you studied French at High School.”

 

“And you are?” John asked the male servant. 

 

“Pierre,” he replied. “I is teached Anglia.”

 

“All citizens, learn both English and French, but not many have a reason to practice English after school,” Mycroft told them. 

 

Philippe and his companion, bowed slightly to Mycroft and left.

 

“He's a prince but he is bowing to you…” John left the question open.

 

“I am the Prince Royale, heir to the throne.”

 

“Is there a flowchart of the lineage or something similar? There seems to be lots of Holmes about and we haven’t begun to meet everyone of import.” Anna crinkled the corner of her mouth, and pulled her hair behind her ear.

 

“Come now, you have only met three of us,” Mycroft replied. 

 

“Exactly my point, Mycroft. I don’t want to waste valuable time figuring out the minutiae of the pecking order, when I can be hunkering down on things that have higher priority.”

 

“You will meet the family tomorrow at breakfast. But if you must have some information to sleep on, my brothers are Sherlock, Ashcroft, Louis, Philippe, and Myrddyn. Michel, Ashford and Sherrin did not survive.”  

 

Anna closed her eyes and nodded as if taking mental notes. Sherlock observed her gesture with a self satisfied smirk. 

 

“What are you doing, doctor?” Mycroft asked. 

 

“Oh, sorry. Just filing away what you’ve just said. Hopefully I’ve got it all right in here…” She tapped her temple. 

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. 

 

“You have a photographic memory?” John smiled.

 

“Don’t be daft, Dr Watson. Obviously she builds memories from aural imprinting. Fascinating…” Sherlock continued to smirk, this time while steepling his slender fingers under his chin.

 

Mycroft turned to Theresa and spoke to her in French. “Please show Dr Eberhardt to the salt water spa and see to it that she has suitable nightwear.”  

 

“What method do you use?” John asked Sherlock.

 

“Literal. I have had a lifetime to read while lying in bed wrapped in cotton wool,” Sherlock replied. “You could say I am a man of letters.”  

 

“And just what letters might those be, Sherlock?” Anna raised her left eyebrow.

 

“She’s cheeky, Mycroft. Well done you.” Sherlock chuckled in a rumbly baritone. “We’ll see how long that lasts, doctor…” Sherlock cleared his throat. “I meant to say, Anna.”

 

“We might have the luxury of sleeping in tomorrow morning but I can assure you that the servants do not.  Shall we show them our respect for their efforts to make life comfortable for us by retiring in order that they can get some sleep before they begin to prepare for the next day’s work?” Mycroft asked.

 

“My goodness, Mycroft. You have been speech writing again,” Sherlock said. “But that is quite a grand idea. Now get out… all of you.”  

 

“Goodnight, Sherlock.” Anna curtsied in place, and pantomimed lifting the hem of an imaginary dress, then turned to leave.

 

Sherlock’s eyes seared into Anna’s rear end as she exited the room. She stopped at the doorway and glowered over her shoulder with narrowed eyes. Of course - Sherlock pretended not to see her expression. With that, everyone began to file out as requested by the Prince. The only person left behind was the nighttime duty nurse.

 

Once Theresa  had lead her down the corridor well out of earshot of the men, she began speaking quietly to Anna, “Now that it’s just us, I’m free to answer any questions without anyone listening over our shoulders.”

 

“That’s great, because I have so many questions, that I honestly don’t know where to begin.” Anna awaited a reply while she silently counted her footfalls as the women made their way to the salt spa.

 

“Well, let’s start with the most juicy gossip.  It is rumoured that Michel, Ashford and Sherrin aren’t dead, but locked away in the madness tower.”

 

“Really? Wow. Shades of Richard the Third…” Anna mumbled.

 

“Mycroft is unmarried.  He will need a wife before he becomes King,” Theresa hinted. 

 

“Good luck with that. He doesn’t seem the type. Not that he seems to have a type at all.”

 

“There are actually a few people who have made wagers on Mycroft’s status, but it’s proving to be a daunting task to uncover the truth. It seems to be a long term thing.”

 

“Can I get in on that?” Anna giggled. “I’m thinking he’s Ace if he’s anything.”

 

“Ace, Ma’am?” Theresa looked across at Anna quizzically.

 

“I’ll explain another time,” she shook her head. “Island full of people, and not yet married, huh?”

 

“Sherlock, Ashcroft and Myrddyn are all unmarried, though no one holds out hope for Myrddyn.”

 

“You sound a bit sad about that. Why?”

 

“They’re Princes. They have to marry foreigners. And Myrddyn is never getting married. He has Arthur.  Like Philippe has the Chevalier.” 

 

“Hmmph, okay. Is that controversial at all? Because I’d think his family would be glad that he’s happy.”

 

“No, not controversial. Quite normal for the royal family in fact. Louis and Philippe are both married and they have sons so the line is assured. In fact you have arrived just in time for the naming celebrations for Philippe’s son. The problem is that Royal sons don’t often survive childhood. Sherlock hasn’t shown any interest in marrying or even bedding any female, but we all think that it’s because he doesn’t want to fall for a local and he has never been out of the country,” Theresa continued. 

 

Anna took in everything that she had been told without a hint of her inner dialogue. She sensed a common thread among these brothers and their search for companionship. Deep down, she hoped her line of thought was entirely wrong. 

 

“I’m going to bet that you will be interested in Ashcroft. You don’t want to set your heart on Sherlock.  He is lucky to have lived this long.” 

 

“I’m not here to find a life partner, I’m here to work. Maybe work on my tan a little.”

 

Theresa stopped in her tracks and turned to Anna with a grim look on her face. “Tan, Ma’am…?” 

 

“Don’t mind me.” Anna shook her head. “I’m only joking.” 

 

“Ah…’cause you can’t get a tan here. The wind is too constant to stay outside for very long,” Theresa said totally innocently.  Finally after walking down endless corridors Theresa opened a door to reveal a spa that was quite in keeping with the decor of the palace, though more of the outside stone edifice than the Louis XIV design. 

 

 

“This is amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room quite like this. Not even at my favorite spa at home. And it smells lovely.” 

 

Theresa began undressing Anna, who seemed a little tense at first, but began to relax and allow her chambermaid to assist her. 

 

John looked at the clothes in the wardrobe and sighed. He guessed he would get used to it, just as he had become accustomed to wearing his uniform.  At least he didn’t have to wear a corset. The breeches were the loosest fit John had ever encountered. Not that they would fall down, no, the waistband was perfect but into that waistband was gathered an enormous amount of material. And there were no zippers, everything had buttons. 

 

But it was too late for John to worry about any of this because he intended getting up early to study Prince William’s medical file. Having taken on this job, he was now very aware of the fact that being in an isolated country where he didn’t know the laws, failing to keep one of their Princes alive might come with an extremely aggressive punishment. Maybe even the death penalty. Mycroft’s words,  _ ‘Death wish _ ’, lingered on in his memory as he lay in the ostentatious luxury of his bedchamber, his body feeling far more relaxed than his current state of mind. 

  
Anna submerged herself into the water of the salt spa, and breathed a sigh of relief. The water was warm and comforting, somewhat like a whole body hug. Then, she tilted her head back to allow the waterfall to sluice over her. She closed her eyes, smoothed her hands over her hair and smiled. Anna was thoroughly enjoying the experience - warm swirling water, the relaxing sound of water splashing around her, and the soft music being piped in on well hidden speakers. 

Interestingly, she wasn’t alone in her enjoyment. In a room far removed from the spa, someone else was also enjoying the doctor’s bid to enjoy a few private moments of relaxation. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and saw her in the spa bath as if he was standing in the room with her. A smile touched his lips. He had felt the connection the moment she had walked into the room with him. 

 

After some time had passed, Theresa peeked in on Anna to enquire if she had any needs that begged her attention only to find Anna fast asleep. Theresa tiptoed across the room to gently awaken her, get her properly swaddled and escort Anna to her room to tuck her in for the night.

 

Theresa woke Anna opening the wooden shutters on the windows and letting the sun fill the room. Then hurried about the room preparing Anna’s clothes. “Good morning Ma’am.”  

 

“Mmmph…” Anna hummed into her pillow as she turned her head away from the harsh beams of daylight streaming into her bedchamber. “You… you should have let me sleep,” she mumbled into her pillow. 

 

“Sorry, Ma’am. Doctor Watson requested you meet him for tea and to help pore over the prince’s medical records with him. Something about a treatment plan. Pierre says he has been awake since dawn.”

 

Theresa guided her to a padded stool in front of a mirror and began fussing with Anna’s hair. Eventually after applying a couple of pounds of hair pins, she was satisfied that it resembled something that would be acceptable in court. 

 

Anna tilted her head, and stared at her new coiffure from all angles. She looked over her shoulder in the mirror to find Theresa anxiously awaiting her verdict. When she smiled, Theresa clutched her hands to her bosom and sighed in relief. “I look like a Barbie doll. Cool…”

 

“Barbie doll?” Theresa asked. But she didn’t seem that interested in the answer because she then guided Anna to where her clothes were laid out. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you later. Let’s get me dressed, then…”

 

Theresa pulled on the tie at the gathered neck of Anna’s nightgown and let it fall to the floor before she gathered up the vast fabric of another shorter gown and dropped it over Anna’s head without disturbing a single hair.  This layer was similar to her nightgown, but with a short lace ruffle around the neck. 

Then, she indicated that Anna was to step into the middle of a hooped underskirt.  Anna was starting to feel like Scarlett in Gone with the Wind, only this was a great deal narrower and more practical. 

 

“So, this is my life now? Is there an acceptable but less formal way to dress? I cannot imagine going through this every day, sometimes twice.” 

 

Theresa giggled. “We simplified it as much as we could,” she said as she applied the skirt, tired it in place and tucked the draw string into her waistband. “There are slits here to get into your pockets.”  

 

“Pockets!” Anna snorted a sarcastic chuckle. “This must be where Erdem got his inspiration.” 

 

Theresa continued as if she was accustomed to either not listening to her ‘betters’ or simply ignoring anything she didn’t understand. “Katie,” she called and a very nervous teenager entered the room to help Theresa. The corset slid over her head and momentarily sat on her hips, before Theresa held it in place and Katie started tightening the laces. “Don’t worry, Ma’am. We don’t tight lace. It is against the law and we haven’t had the tiny waists of our ancestors since the revolution.”

 

“Thank you, ladies. This will definitely take some getting used to, and I’m more grateful for your patience than I could ever say. Is there something I can do for by way of appreciation? I’m still processing all of this, and it seems like you both take care of so many details.” Before Anna was favored with a reply, her chambermaids were lifting her arms to continue dressing her.

 

Over the top of the corset and after they had arranged the lace frill of her underblouse, they put the bodice of her ‘dress’. It had short sleeves which let the sleeves of the underblouse show for the lower half of her arm. As a final touch to the dress, they tied a bustle to the back of her dress that draped on the floor behind her like a short train. Adding knee high thick white stockings and what seemed to Anna like slippers, the servants were happy with her.  Anna was wearing more in the ties of this outfit than all the material of her usual day dress. 

 

“We will have your evening dress ready for you before dinner. It usually takes half to an hour to dress for dinner,” Theresa told her. Katie approached with powder and a brush. She looked at Anna, then the powder and then after repeating this a few times, she turned to Theresa for help. “Perhaps ma’am will show us how…” Theresa said, indicating the cosmetics. 

 

Anna turned toward a floor length mirror and looked herself over from her hem up to her hair, then back to her face. She laughed out loud when looking at the cakey, powdery makeup. “I have a bag of different products. I’d be happy to show you how to apply my everyday look. Can one of you fetch up a facecloth? I really can’t go around looking like this today.”

 

Theresa poured water into a porcelain bowl and brought it to Anna with modern facecloths, while Katie pulled Anna’s cosmetics bag from one of the drawers in a large cabinet that contain many smaller drawers. 

 

John stood as Anna approached. Both of them were trying to maintain a straight face.  

 

“Don’t you dare, Watson. Seriously, do not…”

 

John bowed slightly at the waist and offered a few words of greeting “Good morning, lady doctor. How did you sleep last night?” He held out his right leg as if she was meant to notice it.

 

“Like a baby. I fell asleep, woke up, cried myself back to sleep and drooled on my pillow. Hope I didn’t wet the bed.” 

 

“I don’t think they would care if you did. Apparently anything we do is alright with the servants.” 

 

“Nice calves, there…” Anna wolf whistled.

 

“I am told by my man that I have excellent calves. He even added an extra garter to show them off.”

 

“I’m so jealous of your shoes. How come yours are prettier than mine?” Anna poked out her bottom lip.

 

“Oh! So… You are wearing shoes under there, are you?” John pointed to the hem of her skirt and chuckled. “I can’t tell with all the...drapes…”

 

“Point taken,” she shrugged. “By the by, there’s a bawdy joke in there somewhere about carpets and drapes. Don’t think for a moment that I missed the double entendre,” she winked.

 

“Hope I survive the day in 2 inch heels,” John muttered as he flopped into a chair. There were two ipads on the table along with a tea service and toast. 

 

“You’ve lived through worse than being kitted out like a peacock.”

 

John flapped his hand and multiple lace ruffles fluffed out.  “If my army buddies could see me now.” 

 

“Dude, that wig is everything.”

 

“First time my military cut has been inappropriate.  I have to wear this until my hair is half way down my back.” 

 

“I can’t even begin to imagine you in ruffled shirtsleeves, giving exams while rocking a man-bun.” Anna threw her head back and laughed uproariously. “Bwah-hahaha!” Then, Anna dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a dainty handkerchief, and took a deep breath to steady herself so that she could get down to business.

 

“I can tell you one thing we will not encounter here. There are no problems with infertility due to restricted blood flow.  While everything else is bound up in the overuse of fabric, that is one male part that hangs free.” 

 

“I don’t know whether to laugh my ass off, pat your hand in sympathy, or slap your face for flirting so shamelessly,” Anna smiled.

 

“Anna, if I may call you Anna.  I just got back from a country where a woman could be flogged to death because I looked at her to find myself in a country where the women are wearing more clothing than eskimos in winter.”  

 

“That's gotta be pretty intense. But, knowing that all the menfolk are going commando? I don’t even know what to do with that little factoid. The mind boggles at the breadth of my bawdy little imagination.”

 

“We shall be companions in suffrage. The only muscles you are going to see are a well shaped calf covered in silk stockings. So much for my dream of bikini clad ladies on a sunny beach.”  

 

“Calves as phallic symbols. You’re not helping me, Watson.” Anna screws her eyes shut and shakes her head. 

 

“Maybe we should get to business, then, before we are fed to the local fishes for letting their prince die. What is your area of expertise?” John asked. “I know why I’m here. I’m a pretty generalized allrounder.” 

 

“I have a non-medical specialty in exercise physiology, but my medical field is psychology.” 

 

“How does that happen?”

 

“I had to pay my own way through school, so I worked as a physical trainer. But my medical training is in psychology.”

 

“After Pre-med, I joined the army. I thought I’d stay long enough for them to pay for my medical training, but I found I liked it. It was quite challenging to patch people up while being shot at. Then I got shot.” 

 

“Ah, an adrenaline junky. No judgements, though. I can’t throw stones at you. I run marathons. I was in the middle of training for a triathlon when I got this job offer.”

 

“I’d like to see you train in that outfit,” he laughed. A servant came over and started pouring their tea. 

 

“No chance. They confiscated my warmups and trainers. All they left me were my thongs.”

 

“We need to steal some of the ‘peasant clothes’. More practical.”

 

“No kidding. The bones in these hoops and corsets are killing me.”

 

“I can write you a medical certificate to excuse you from the corsets.”

 

“If you could pull that off, I’d be eternally grateful for at least fifteen minutes.”

 

“Actually, there is good reason for you to have your training gear.  He wasn’t kidding about spending much of his life wrapped up in cotton wool. Prince Sherlock needs some carefully supervised exercise.”  

 

“That’s right in my wheelhouse. If we can get him a little more active, his blood oxygen would increase significantly. He’d start being less pale almost immediately.”

 

“It’s a miracle he is still alive and I don’t mean just the hemophilia. He has thrown himself off the cliffs more than once. Which seems to be a habit around here. Lemming syndrome.”  

 

“How has he survived BASE jumping off the island? I don’t understand that.”

 

“You had better start to understand it, cause they want you to do a study on why their population keeps throwing themselves of the the island.”  

 

“Can we do an Occam’s Razor reduction and start with something simple? Let’s run a few blood tests to see if there’s something organic going on. I’ll look over the records of jumpers and their families to find subjects for testing.”

 

“The locals blame the wind.  Apparently it is never not windy here. Somehow, I think inbreeding is more likely. It is so bad that the Princes are not allowed to marry anyone local.” 

 

“Sherrinford Distemper?” Anna shrugged. “And I mean that in all sincerity.” 

 

“From these notes, I am trying to work out what the hell the prince is doing restricted to bed for a swollen elbow. He seems to be getting all the latest treatments. He shouldn’t be fragile. Any minor injury shouldn’t be a problem for him.” John paused to sip his tea, frowned and added milk, before taking another sip. “Hmmm… the country is a big producer of dairy products. Holmes is fertile enough to run a large amount of animals as well as enough crops to feed the population, which is relatively small.”

 

“Is the wind stirring up something from the cattle production? Something in the faeces, maybe?” Anna reached for a biscuit as she spoke.

 

“I’m no expert in environmental safety.  I wonder why...Anna, do you have family?” John asked suddenly. 

 

“Yes, two brothers.”

 

“That you are close enough to that they would miss you if...say, you stopped writing to them?” 

 

“Oh yeah. If I don’t Skype once a week, they’re practically ready to send out a search party.”

 

John shook his head. “Nevermind. I guess I am getting spooked by all the alieness of this place.”

 

“Well, we should make sure we’ve got each other’s back while we’re here. Safety in numbers.”

 

“I don’t think they ever want us to leave.  Mycroft sort of implied that once I accepted the job that a pine box was the only way I would leave it.”

 

“I honestly can’t see myself being here until the twelfth of never. But I’m willing to give it a chance.”

 

“It’s the sort of place that people come to for a holiday and never leave,” John commented. “Not that there is any place quite like this.”     
  
They worked for some time on a program to ensure Sherlock was not treated with kid gloves on their watch and started to work out a plan to investigate Sherrinford Distemper, losing track of time until the servant came to escort them to breakfast with the royals.  

 


End file.
